Walls of Jericho
by birthsister
Summary: Immediately post-Fractures, due to unusual circumstances aboard Moya, John and Aeryn are forced to share quarters and must deal with the emotional consequences. Finished and complete.
1. Chapter One

Notes: A little birdy (named ceallaig) whispered in my ear about this lovely love story set in an old black and white movie starring Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert. The scene she described to me is very much like the one John describes to Aeryn, and of course the inspiration for this fic. The rest of course is a product of my warped imagination and hopeful aspirations. Hope you all enjoy.

Rated: PG-13 for adult situations. It could probably pass for PG, but I'm erring on the side of caution here.

Disclaimer: All the usual, characters are all property of Henson, Farscape, and everyone else who's making money off of them…me, I just do this because I have no life. J No profit is derived from this work of fiction…yadda yadda yadda.

No snurching or you WILL be fed to Vit, the pet keedva.

Peace, love, and happy shipping everybody…

WALLS OF JERICHO

"You're all gonna die," Chiana had said with that new indomitable certainty of hers.

"You seein' that one, Pip, or are you just guessing?" His answer had been false bravado, words to cure the slick feel of ice creeping up through his intestines. Yet, despite his fear and false certainty and the rattlers that always accompanied a person standing in front of his friends doing something he knows they all think is too stupid for words, he had to desperately fight the urge to shift his weight just a hair's breadth to the right. Just a microcosm of space and he could touch her. Bump her shoulder. It was maddening enough that if he moved his head, pretending perhaps to look at Jool, he could smell her. Fresh soap and chakon oil. If he twitched the fingers of his right hand, he could brush her hip. And so, he stood perfectly still.

He hadn't expected them to jump at the prospect of revisiting the command carrier. Of course, he hadn't expected them to leave him with a "good luck, you fahrbot probakto" either. Really, he hadn't known what to expect. He was aware, however, that Aeryn walking forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him had been the one thing he had NOT anticipated at the conception of his plan. It gave him hope. It saddened him beyond words. He felt as though she were standing with her dead lover, honoring a last wish, not coming forward to stand with the man she loved now, but rather the man she had loved then.

When she had taken that first step, he had expected it to carry her right out of Pilot's chamber. He could hear her footsteps receding away from him in much the same way one hears the crunch of metal before impact in a car crash. Her stony face, her ashen limbs, her "Peacekeeper with attitude" demeanor would walk her right back to Talyn and out of his life. Then she had stopped, and with precision military training performed an about face that left him lost in an ecstasy of mental confusion. Crais following her in much the same manner was barely a blip on his internal radar. Crais meant Talyn. Talyn meant firepower. But Aeryn. Aeryn meant everything.

As they all left Pilot's chamber, John knew they would each have their own private conversations, with themselves and each other, but they would eventually stand with him. They were all the same brand of insane in this corner of the universe.

Aeryn still said nothing as they parted company. Crais looked at him with that mixture of pity and morbidity one reserves for staring on the faces of the walking dead. He paused as he turned from Crichton, staring at the floor. 

"Do you have a plan?" He asked.

"I will." John answered. Crais nodded at him.

"I'm sure it will be adequate." John watched his back recede down the corridor and wondered if Cpt. Bialar Crais, former Peacekeeper and once sworn enemy of said human, had just complimented him.

John stood outside Pilot's chamber, his impetus stolen by his mental soliloquy. Where should he go? Central chamber? Not really hungry. Medical? Didn't really need to see the boolite again. At least until the creature was a bit more himself. Command? Aeryn was headed that way and he didn't need more of the silent treatment. He could return to his own quarters and under usual circumstances spend the next couple arns writing in his notebook, but it was a habit he had fallen out of since the Other had taken the original. He looked up suddenly from his thoughts. By the way, where was his notebook? Everything had been returned to him, right down to an EVA suit he'd never even seen before, but his notebook was still missing.

He grabbed Rygel's throne sled as he heard it whine by.

"What?" the diminutive dominar asked. "Unhand me this microt, I have had a series of traumatic experiences today and I need to rest. And eat. Yes, I need to eat then rest."

"Yeah, yeah, Sparky. Food. Just wondering, where is my notebook?"

"How would I know? It's not my job to babysit your belongings."

John scratched the back of his head as he followed Rygel down the hall towards the central chamber. "I know, and I'm not accusing you of anything. Mostly because it's completely worthless to you…" John tried to smile but the Hynerian only grunted in his general direction. "But anyway, the other…the other me took it, and I was just wondering if you happened to know what happened to it."

Rygel turned the throne sled towards John and he could tell for the first time since he had known the Dominar that the little guy actually felt remorse for something. "Aeryn packed all of his things," he said quietly, " all of your things…you'd do better asking her."

"Well," John said, stopping outside the central chamber, "we're kind of having a failure to communicate these days."

"Then," Rygel said, his voice again taking on its characteristic arrogance, "I'd say you have a problem. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure that little green trelk didn't eat all my marjhols. I think two of my stomachs are empty. This is very bad. Very bad indeed."

John nodded and waved Rygel away with the back of his hand. He began chewing the pad of his thumb as he walked, losing himself in thought. It wasn't any place he relished being, but he was accustomed to roaming the dark spaces of his own mind, much like the time he spent wandering the hollow and lonely corridors of a ship far too big for only a handful of beings to inhabit. 

So, Aeryn had packed all of the Other's belongings, all of his belongings. How hard that must have been for her. He knew how hard it would have been on him. No one should have to put a dead lover's few belongings into a duffle bag. He could imagine their places switched, still smelling her scent, still feeling the same familiarity of texture and weight in items that were as intimately known as the person who had worn them. He remembered his father calling his aunts to pack his mother's clothes in those first few days after. The man who had walked on the moon, walked in space, survived missions that by all rights should have put him in the ground could not face the fabric of his dead wife's life. For the week after her funeral it had been a houseful of women, his sisters, his mother's sisters, he and his father out on the porch sitting in silence, displaced by well meaning females. 

Aeryn with no family, the only one close enough she could trust with such a task was the same one who had left her with it. He pictured her in his mind and for a moment it was like imagining his own funeral. He remembered those first days without her aboard Moya had been bad enough. He remembered finding himself outside her quarters more often than not. An easy walk then knowing she was still alive. He'd had no souvenir but memory. What kind of souvenir had life granted Officer Sun to have a man to whom she could finally surrender die in her arms? Would Aeryn keep something else to hold the dead close to heart? He would almost say no, considering her deterioration back into the Peacekeeper hard line. As John further considered the possibility he decided her attitude was reserved for him. Honor the dead man. Keep the one you could love at bay. It was cold comfort to know she could love him. She had loved him. The question remained, could she love him again?

His mental ramblings were interrupted as one foot sloshed into a puddle of some thick, viscous liquid and he was left clinging to a bulkhead for support after sliding a dench and a half down the corridor. He picked up his foot and watched the clear liquid ooze and drip off the sole. He frowned and shook his foot, the offending substance landing in small droplets along the corridor, some flying up and splattering his shirt. He frowned again, more in distaste than confusion this time.

John hit his com, reaching down to slide a finger along the pitted and ribbed sole of his boot. It came away clear and slick.

"Yes?" Pilot's voice answered his page.

"Pilot, you got a puddle of," John sniffed his hand, rubbing thumb and forefinger together trying to identify the substance, "KY jelly down here."

"I beg your pardon, Commander?" Pilot answered.

"Some sort of slick, slimy stuff is pooling in the corridor on tier 12. You might want to send a DRD down here to clean it up before someone breaks their neck." He sniffed his fingers again. Mostly odorless. He shook his boot but the gooey substance released itself to the floor in long thin strings like egg white, according to its own time and in its own way.

"We wouldn't want that to happen," Pilot said in that polite way of his that made you wonder about his actual sincerity. Ever since that whole freslin incident he had become particularly snarky.

"No, we wouldn't, Pilot," John answered, moving to take a step and finding his right foot sliding wildly across the floor. He sighed and knelt to untie his laces. Carrying his boot carefully in front of him he made his way back towards quarters in his stocking feet.

Knowing what he had to do was different than knowing how to do it. Creating a battle plan was different than calculating trajectories, balancing gravitational forces against other laws of physics, planning the last few arns of your life. The dubious elation he had felt earlier at Aeryn standing beside him, watching his back, Butch and Sundance ride again was replaced in the middle of what should have been his sleep cycle by fear. What if he got her killed. What if she had to watch HIM die again. Now there's a vain thought, John looked up from trying to rub the goo off his boot, it implies that she actually cares what happens to me.

A flash of white caught his eye and John lay the boot carefully on the floor, tucking the rag lightly into the top so it wouldn't be misplaced. He lay a hand on Wynona, cocking his head in the direction of the door.

"Pip, that you?" He asked carefully.

A small white face peered around the corner of the door, jet black eyes glittering in the dim lights of ships night. He moved his hand away from his side arm and picked up his boot again.

"Hey, Old Man," she said, coming full into view. She was barefoot, the long white robe she had acquired on the royal planet held closed only by her hands clasping the folds.

"A little late even for you to be up, don't you think," he asked.

She stood in the doorway and shrugged. "Can I sleep with you?"

John stopped and followed the pattern of the grooves on the bottom of his boot with his eyes. This was not what he needed right now. Ever since the energy rider had made its not so shocking confession that "this body wants you" he had been waiting for the inevitable pass. He thought it might happen when they were on Lomo, but circumstances then being what they were he was quite happy he never had the opportunity to find out. Why now? Why with Aeryn back on the ship? Why with Aeryn only a tier down and two cells over?

Chiana took a step forward and he realized for the first time he'd never seen her bare feet. He noticed the pads were a deep charcoal, her toe nails a shiny blueish gun metal gray. A thin white calf slipped out of the robe and then disappeared again as she took another step. It was easy to let his eyes wander so he concentrated on the grooves of his boot.

"Chi, I thought we already discussed these little send offs of yours."

"Send off?" Chiana cocked her head at him.

John finally looked up at her, his blue eyes daring her to take another step towards his bed. A small, uncertain smile curled the right side of her mouth.

"You know, send off. One more for the road. Let me say good bye with a bang? Give me something to remember you by?" His lips were pressed thin, his jaw felt tight from the effort of not verbally ripping her end from end. Not because he was particularly offended, just because she was there and he could.

She sat down at the table and arranged the robe over her legs. Her small gray toes wiggled on the cold floor while she considered the Human with narrowed eyes. John licked his lips, waiting for her answer and suddenly ashamed of himself. How many times had his sisters come to his room in the middle of night, bathrobes in disarray and toothbrushes sticking out of their mouths, cotton balls still stuck in between their toes while polish dried just to talk, share a problem, share a moment.

"I have to admit, John" she crooned, licking her lips with a small pink tongue, "that I've always been curious. But unless you're offering, neither am I."

"I'm sorry, Pip." John said against his hands as he rested his forehead against the heels of his palms. He scrubbed his face hard and looked at her. Her playfulness was gone, replaced by worry. "What can I do for you? What's wrong with your quarters?"

"I just need a place to sleep. I got some sort of stuff puddling on the floor. I don't know where it's coming from, but I'm not waiting around for it to start dripping from the bulkhead. Pilot said he'll look into it in the morning."

"Chi, there's half a dozen empty cells on this tier alone, you could crash anywhere for the night."

Chiana turned her attention from John to look around his cell. "Yeah, but they're all so…cold."

John followed her gaze, looking at all the things he had accumulated in the past three cycles. Machine parts. Bio-mechanoid components. Schematics. A shelf of clothes he never bothered with anymore. Peacekeeper off duty uniforms made getting dressed easy. Black on black was a no brainer to coordinate, though he would about sell his left arm for just one flannel shirt. A pair of Nikes. A new pair of Calvins. Bits of this and that. His home. Her eyes rested on his bed. He had to admit, the thick fur he had added as a coverlet was a far cry better than the hard all purpose mattress these bunks came with. Given the choice, he supposed he too would rather sleep in this bed than a bare bunk in an empty cell. He reached for his holster and lay it on the chair across from Chiana. He stood up and motioned to the bed.

"Go ahead. Get some sleep, I wasn't tired anyway." He fluffed a pillow for her.

She moved to the far side of the bed and lay down, primly arranging the robe over her limbs so the only gray flesh that showed were hands and feet. He realized she probably wasn't one for night clothes and had dug this up for his comfort more than her own. John arranged the blanket over her, brushing a hand lightly through corn silk hair.

"Thanks, Chi," he said, taking her place at the table.

"For what?" Her voice sounded far away and muffled against the pillows.

"For reminding me what an ass I can be."

She shifted her head to look at him, smiling again. "Glad to be of service." Her eyes rolled towards the ceiling in thought. "Hey, what do you suppose that dren is in my room?"

"Dunno," John answered absently. He comptemplated the irony that in the past solar day Aeryn had returned home, Rygel had gotten more action than he, and when he had finally gotten a woman into his bed it was Chiana. To further the irony, she was completely clothed and it was all purely platonic. What could be worse than this? Crais in Aeryn's bed. John shivered. Where the frell did THAT thought come from?

He dipped his rag in the solvent and started scrubbing at the sole of his boot again. This stuff didn't just wipe off, it clung for dear life. And he had learned the hard way even a light coating of it in the smallest crevice could give WD-40 a run for its money. After a perfunctory wipe he had put his boots back on with the intention of tracking down D'Argo and had slid in such a way that he was momentarily glad he was off Aeryn's dance card. Any performance on his part would have been sadly lacking and most likely deeply painful.

"I wouldn't go touching it, though," John said, wagging the cleaning cloth at her, "I ran into this stuff on tier 12 and I'm still wiping it off my boot. It's slicker'n Crisco."

Chiana continued staring at the ceiling, her eyes thoughtful. "Hey, you don't suppose, y'know…Rygel and Orrhn…" Her voice trailed off, letting the thought complete itself.

John looked at Chiana, then back at the cleaning cloth and his boot. He dropped both simultaneously.

"I think I need new boots." John looked at his hand. "I think I need new skin." Chiana chuckled, a throaty, seductive sound, before turning her face towards the wall and nestling in to sleep again.


	2. Chapter Two

"Ok, here's the deal," John said, addressing everyone on command. They all sat on the strategy table, feet propped on chairs, or on an impromptu seat made out of a console. Anything to keep out of the clear slime that oozed and pooled on the floor. It dripped off boots and landed with a succession of sickening splats. Jool wiped disgustedly at her fingers with a cloth, her face drawn back in a rictus of horror and nausea.

"I swear, that boolite is less revolting than this." She said, not bothering to look up from her task.

"Here's the deal," John reiterated, "Pilot thinks he may know the cause of our current situation, but doesn't want to make any sort of press announcement until he's certain. Until then, he says the DRDs can keep up with maintaining a small amount of space fairly slime free."

"How small of a space," D'Argo asked. He eyed Crais warily, still not adjusting well to the idea of sharing his home with not only an ex-Peacekeeper, but the same man who had been responsible for his previous imprisonment.

"Two or three chambers." John wrinkled his brow in anticipation of the range of protests. 

"What about Talyn?" Chiana asked. 

D'Argo nodded. "Yes, what about Talyn? Why don't we all go over there until Pilot sorts this dren out?"

Crais raised a hand and shook his head. "That is not…advisable…at this juncture. Talyn is in a particularly defensive mood and would not welcome visitors. You would all do better to take your risks here, aboard Moya, at the present moment."

"Ok, then," John continued, "that leaves sleeping arrangements. If Pilot can only keep two or three rooms clear, I suggest we keep two sleeping chambers and the central chamber. The command is too big, so we're just frelled up here anyway. So, that leaves guys in one bunk, girls in the other."

"You expect ME, to actually have to SHARE quarters? With THEM?" Jool stabbed a finger in Chiana's direction, though she wisely kept any physical punctuation from Aeryn.

"What," Chiana asked, mischief lightening her face, "You don't snore do you?"

"I don't think so John," D'Argo said, "It's bad enough I have to share ships space with HIM, but I'm not sharing quarters." D'Argo drew his qualta blade and rested it pointedly across his lap.

"A Dominar does not 'share' quarters." Rygel sniffed disdainfully.

"Sparky, I seen you sleep in that throne sled…you can sleep wherever the hell you want and not worry about breaking your neck on the way to the john in the morning."

"Why would I seek you out in the morning? You're not that popular, and now that there's one of you, you aren't nearly as interesting, either."

"It's a saying, Buckwheat. The head, the latrine, the bathroom…never mind. Look guys, it's a pain in the ass, but it should only be for a few days til we figure this out and get it cleaned up."

John looked at Aeryn, the only one who had been remarkably silent during the whole exchange. Sure, sharing quarters should be no big thing to a woman raised in a barracks, though he did find it odd she didn't even bother to pass a scathing remark to her new roomies.

"There are, I dunno, enlisted quarters? Down on the bottom tier. Three bunks to a room, no waiting."

"Tech quarters," Aeryn said quietly. He could almost get excited she was talking to him if it had been more than two words and she weren't just clarifying a point. "I'll stay in my own quarters, if you don't mind."

"Aeryn," John started to say, but she narrowed her eyes and stared at him. The message was obvious. You do not have permission to speak to me.

The first night was a disaster. John lay awake staring at the ceiling, listening to Crais snore underneath his bunk, listening to D'Argo make horrible guttural growling sounds that could only pass for Luxan snoring across the room on the single bunk. The room stank of the solvent the DRDs had used to clean and the back of his throat itched. Next door, he could hear the girls snipe at each other until they both finally fell into an exhausted sleep. He was tempted to get up and go make sure they hadn't suffocated each other with their pillows, but found he didn't have the energy.

His mind wandered in and out of dark places it didn't belong. What would he had done if it had been the other John who had returned and not Aeryn. Ok, not going there. What if they had both returned and were up in her room frelling like rabbits right now. Check the belt and shoe laces at the door on that thought. Crais snorted and chuffled underneath him and John, tired and well beyond irritable stripped off his shirt, leaned over the bunk and slapped Crais in the face with it.

"Hey! Stuff a sock in it, Bialar." Black eyes snapped open and glared at John. "Y'know," John said, unperturbed by the look and glad for the small amount of silence coming from his corner of the room, "they must have promoted you to captain just to get you the frell out of the barracks."

"I don't see you assaulting the Luxan." Crais groused. John felt him shift in the bed.

"Yeah, well, I LIKE the Luxan." John shrugged back into his shirt. "Y'know, Crais, if you don't like how you're being treated here you are welcome to go back to Talyn."

"I am afraid, right now, I too would be an unwelcome visitor aboard Talyn."

That caught John's attention and he shifted himself to dip his head over the side of the bunk. "Ok, what'd you do to piss off Junior?"

"It is late, Crichton, and we need our rest. I will discuss it with you in the morning." Crais pointedly turned his back on John and pulled his blanket up over a shoulder. John considered Crais' back a moment before pulling himself up into his own bunk. Frustrated he threw a boot in D'Argo's direction. The Luxan snorted and rolled over, but in that brief, blissful moment of silence John managed to fall into a fitful doze.

It was Aeryn's voice that woke John, finally, out of his sleep. Crais and D'Argo were gone, wisely leaving him to whatever fitful dreams kept him warm in the early morning hours. He heard her, far away and tinny. 

"John, I need you." 

"I need you too, Baby," he replied, coming to licking his lips as though she had been there to kiss him. 

He heard her voice again over his com, "Jool, I need you." Jool. She needed Jool, not John. His head fell back into his pillow, disappointment just one more demon let out of Pandora's box.

A sleepy voice finally answered. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. What do you want?" Jool rarely rose before the mid-day meal, a throw back to her debutante lifestyle that she just couldn't shake.

"Meet me in medical."

"What's wrong?" More aware, more alert. "Is it the Scarran, or the Boolite?"

Silence. John figured Pilot had finally gotten on the ball about person to person communications. He was usually pretty good about that, reserving open coms for their 'conference' calls.

"Neither. It's me."


	3. Chapter Three

John careened his way into medical wearing as much of the slime as not. It coated nearly every length of floor that he had encountered in Moya, and though it could be navigated with a slow gate and careful steps, with Aeryn requesting assistance in medical neither were on John Crichton's plan of action. He slid into the cluttered bay like a surf boarder finding shore and used a cargo container as a brake. 

Aeryn sat with her back to the door, her arms braced behind her. She didn't so much as twitch at the sounds of his obvious entrance.

"Uh, Aeryn?" Her braid bobbed as she lifted her chin just a bit.

"Crichton."

"You ok?" He inched towards her, using tables and equipment as support.

"I will be. You don't need to be here." Her voice was cold. It wasn't a friend putting another's fears to rest, it was a woman verbally swatting a fly.

"I, uh," he couldn't find words that wouldn't somehow cross the line. How do you tell someone you were worried without sounding like you care.

She sighed. "John, take your own advice and give me some space. Really, it'll be better for the both of us."

He rounded the table and saw her face. A deep gash over her right eye, blood oozing from a wound in her chin. He thought he could see the flecks of white of her jaw bone through the blood. He desperatelywanted to reach out and touch her, wipe away the blood and bandage her himself. His hand must have moved of its own volition because for the first time since she'd come aboard he saw her flinch.

"Don't, John. Just, don't." Her eyes pooled as she focused on a point just over his shoulder.

Oh God, he thought, don't make her cry. Don't let her cry, she'll never forgive you for it.

"Right. I, uh, I'll go see about lighting a fire under Jool." He turned away from her and slowly and carefully made his way out of medical, not so much concerned with the slick floor but with giving himself enough to time to choke back his own tears.

He watched Jool's careful ministrations from the doorway as she cleaned and bandaged Aeryn's wounds. He winced at each bloody piece of cloth she threw aside. You masochistic son of a bitch, he thought to himself, can't you find another way to torture yourself? Go do something useful. Go lobotomize yourself with one of Moya's neural filaments. Take up speed skating, just get the hell out of Dodge right now. He noticed Jool look over Aeryn's head and cock her head at him.

She'd been unusually kind to him since his near death experience, and he knew she meant well, even when she didn't have the right words to say. He could give her an "A" for effort, which was more than he could give himself right now.

"So," she said, her voice taking on a falsely casual tone, "what exactly did you do?"

"What do you mean what did I do? I fell down, you dumb trelk." Aeryn jerked her head as Jool applied more pressure to the wound above her eye than was strictly necessary. John stood a little straighter and shook his head at her.

"I was just wondering how you fell down. I thought perhaps you got some sort of Peacekeeper jolly over using your face as a door stopper." Jool threw another bloody cloth aside and reached for an anesthetic patch.

"I don't need that." Aeryn jerked her head away as Jool tried to apply it.

"Yes, you do. I don't care how much you might actually enjoy pain, Officer Sun, but the wound on your chin goes down to the bone and will require layers of sutures. If you start making noise, it will only break my concentration and I wouldn't want to mar that lovely Sebacean skin of yours with a misplaced stitch."

John watched Aeryn's back, tense in the shoulders, her spin coiled like an animal about to spring. She relaxed and released Jool's hand. Her braid bobbed as she nodded consent and lifted her chin.

"John was right about one thing," Aeryn said, "it's a long slide to the facilities at the end of a sleep cycle."

"And too short a distance between your face and the floor?"

"My face and the shelf. Remind me to have Pilot put a DRD on shaving down those shelf corners." Jool showed no outward sign of caring particularly, but tilted her head to look at John again. 

John nodded and mouthed a thank you. He didn't know why it was so important to him to know what had happened. It's not everyday you see the woman you love bruised and bleeding and you're not even allowed to touch her. He turned his back when Jool unwound a length of suture line and gave him a look that said, "do you really want to watch this?"

Pilot looked, well, confused. Confused and irritated. John was used to the irritated. He was a little concerned about the confused, though. John stood at the far side of the cat walk, not wanting to attempt the short walk to Pilot's console when he could see the shiny, luminescent strings of whatever noxious substance had taken over their living environment hanging from the narrow ledge and dripping into the dark below.

"So, uh, Pilot," he called, "what seems to be the verdict?"

Pilot flapped his three pronged hands at him as though shooing him away.

"Pilot?"

"What do you want, Crichton," came the rather acidic answer.

"Dude, we got stuff oozing all over Moya and you're not the tiniest bit concerned?"

"It's perfectly normal. Come back when you have a legitimate concern." Pilot rotated at his console and turned his back on John, his head bobbing up and down, agitated.

"Hey, I'm sorry if I'm 'bothering' you or anything," John took a step forward until his boot slid dangerously and he thought better of it. "But Aeryn took a header this morning into her utility shelf and we're all sliding around out here like figure skaters on acid. That's not 'normal'."

"Are the DRDs not keeping your quarters up to your standards?" Pilot did not turn his head.

"No, the quarters are fine, if you don't count bunk mates. But-" John narrowed his eyes as Pilot cut him off.

"Then I suggest you keep to safe areas, such as your quarters, until the problem resolves itself."

"Pilot, what's gotten into you? You just said this wasn't a 'problem'." They didn't have time for this. They should be half way to finding that damn command carrier by now. And why was Pilot acting suddenly more antisocial than usual. John wondered momentarily if they had passed through any unusual phenomena, thinking perhaps another energy rider.

"It's not a problem for Moya. It is a perfectly normal part of her life cycle. However," Pilot turned around to face John with ferocious speed and slammed all four arms down on the console. John jumped and nearly lost his footing. "However, I suggest if you are overly concerned by this that you find other arrangements and leave those of us who are directly affected by her mating cycle to our own devices. We are sorry it is such an inconvenience for you, Human. Now, if you'll excuse me." Pilot's tone of voice showed just how obviously he wasn't sorry for any inconvenience.

John was struck dumb. He was certain if he had been within range, Pilot most likely would have clocked him one. He eased his way out of the chamber. Mating cycle. Oh, that didn't sound good. That didn't sound good at all. The others weren't going to like this one little bit, either.

"Mating cycle?" D'Argo roared.

Chiana laughed. "Who woulda thought, Leviathans need a little, too."

Aeryn looked confused. "I don't know too much about Leviathans except what I've learned here, but I didn't think females had a mating cycle."

All eyes turned to Crais, who sat nervously on the communication's console at the back of command. He scratched at his transponder and coughed.

"They, uh, generally don't."

"Crais, is this more of your goddamn PK tinkering?" John wanted to grab him by the throat and shake him but figured even if he made it over to the console in one piece, the shaking would have to wait.

"Not exactly."

Jool cocked her head as though two pieces of thought had finally clicked together. "Female Leviathans don't, except in response to the proximity of a male who does."

John covered his eyes and shook his head. Oh God, this wasn't happening. "In the Leviathan life cycle, Talyn is what, about a teenager now?"

"He is an adolescent," Crais answered, not sure if he was agreeing with Crichton or not.

"So basically what we have is a horny teenager on our hands?" Crais nodded. "And you were going to clue us in when?"

"I was hoping I could keep Talyn's urges in check until I could satisfy his needs in other ways. I did not expect Moya to have such an immediate and strong reaction to her own offspring."

"'Satisfy his needs in other ways'?" John screwed his face up in disgust. "I'm not going to ask. Don't even want to look at that map." He paused, rubbing his lips in thought. "Ok, so, how long we got til they get over this HBO afterhours stuff and we can get back on with our lives?" John looked over at D'Argo, who had his qualta blade again resting in his lap.

"Actually, we have a problem."

"Of course there's a problem. There's always a problem. Lay it on me, Captain." John slipped off the console he had been sitting on and moved towards the strategy table, that much closer to strangling distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried not to focus on the glare of the small black bandages against Aeryn's otherwise perfect skin.

"Leviathans do not mate with offspring. Males generally find a herd of females and the one who reacts strongest to his presence is the one who is mated. A male's mating cycle is not concluded until the act is concluded." Crais took a deep breath and looked around the room. He wanted to say this in as few words as possible but he figured Jool would be the only one to catch on before any of the others. "The other females either return to a non-aroused state with his departure, or wait until the next male approaches."

John raised a hand, pausing Crais again. "Ok, before the quiz, professor, let me make sure I have all the facts straight. Talyn isn't going to settle down til he gets laid? Moya may not settle down until SHE gets laid. However, Moya and Talyn are only responding biologically to each other, and that's it? They're not about to start jumping each other like a couple of guests on Jerry Springer?"

"Correct. I think." Crais nodded his head, looking at Aeryn for clarification of John's words and getting none.

"I dunno about that," John continued. "I had a cat growing up. Before we got her fixed you coulda stuck her with a pencil she wouldn't have cared." D'Argo hissed and wrinkled his face at the mental image. John shrugged. "Sorry big guy."

"We thought we had bred out this biological instinct."

"But let me guess, someone forgot to carry the one on some damn DNA computation. Ok, you said you had an alternative plan?" John looked at Crais from underneath a deep furrow in his brow. He really didn't want to hear the answer to this one.

Crais looked clearly more uncomfortable than he had the day Rygel had first brought him aboard a prisoner.

"As you well know, the transponder links us. We can share experiences. I thought, perhaps, I could satisfy Talyn's needs," Crais paused, scratching again at the transponder at the back of his neck. "Vicariously." He finished, finally settling on the most harmless of words he could think of.

"Vicariously?" Several voices chimed in together. John shook his head again. Just when he thought they'd all finally hit rock bottom, there was always one more sub-basement.

"I'm assuming this would imply you needed…a…partner?" John slid around Aeryn, trying to get closer to the little Peacekeeper cockroach. He felt her breath hitch as he grazed her knee with the palm of his hand. He settled on another console. No distractions, he told himself. Hold it together Johnny boy, at least til we get out of this particular jam THEN you can ruminate about the scent of kevich jelly on her breath, so much like peppermint.

Jool spoke up first. "And just which one of us were you expecting to go along with this plan?"

Chi laughed. Short, high pitched. "Don't look at me. I gave up pity frells a long time ago."

Crais ignored the insult and continued speaking. "I wasn't considering any of you. There should be a commerce planet less than three solar days away. As I said before, I thought we would reach it before Moya had this extreme of a reaction."

"So, either Talyn or Captain Kangaroo over here get their rocks off, or we're up to our necks in astroglide indefinitely?"

"Why don't we just send Crais back aboard Talyn and let them have some…'private time'?" D'Argo asked, shifting his weapon on his broad knees.

"Works for me," John said. He cocked his head at Crais.

"That would be an adequate solution but for two conflicting issues. The first is, Talyn will let no one aboard, not even me. Even if you can get him to open his landing bay doors, he will shoot anyone upon contact. Secondly, he will not leave Moya in her current…condition. Biologically, she is a compatible partner, though emotionally he would never consummate the union. Nor will he leave her to rut with an unknown ship. Even if we were to contact another male Leviathan, Talyn would most likely destroy it."

"Well, nothing like a sixteen year old with a hard on and a .45. Talk about your Oedipus complex." John eased off his perch again and started the slow, precarious slide towards the command door.

He stopped where Crais sat and without looking at him said, "I never thought I'd say this, but here's to hoping you get lucky." Then louder, to the rest of the crew, "Ok, we gotta change sleeping arrangements tonight. If we're going to be doing this for three or four more days, I need to get away from the sawmill twins here," he jerked a thumb at D'Argo and Crais, "and Aeryn is going to have to bunk with the girls before she puts out an eye."

"Thank you very much, but I can decide for myself my own living quarters." Aeryn straightened herself up and glared at him. He remembered seeing her sit in that same spot on the strategy table in his boxers and a T-shirt. It had only been two, two and a half cycles ago. It seemed another lifetime.

"Fine, but I'll tell you this, Pilot is not going to send a DRD to file down the corners on your shelves. Right now we're lucky he's sending any DRDs at all to mop up for us. So it would most likely be in your best interest to pack a bag and move quarters. It won't kill you, but a nasty spill in the middle of the night will." Aeryn narrowed her eyes at him and he knew he should back off, but he couldn't.

"Hey," Jool said, brushing absently at something on her bodice, "we don't snore or anything."

Chiana chuckled evilly. "Yeah, but she farts in her sleep."

John marveled at the microsecond it took for Jool's hair to turn from strawberry blond to vibrant day glo red. "I most certainly do not!"

"Ladies, ladies, cool it." John rubbed his eyes, he was tired, he still needed to come up with a plan for finding and boarding that command carrier, and getting his and Aeryn's asses out alive. He didn't need the girls sniping at each other and he didn't need this explosion in the KY factory to sort out. "Look, we'll draw lots. Double up in our own quarters, ok?"

Crais shook his head. "Ok, what's wrong with you?" John was about out of patience, and Crais, being neither friend nor female, was about to get the brunt of his frustration if he didn't have a damn good reason for disagreeing.

"Talyn and I have periods where our personalities…overlap. Officer Sun can attest to this fact. I don't think it would be prudent to chance placing me in the same quarters with a female, so I respectfully bow out of drawing lots. I should either bunk by myself, or with one of the males."

John and D'Argo looked at each other from across the room. D'Argo rolled his eyes and held up a fist. John mirrored him.

"Ready?" John asked. Aeryn looked unimpressed. Crais looked curious. The girls were amused, having seen this dozens of times already and knowing always the Luxan lost. D'Argo nodded sharply and they pumped their arms in unison up and down. One. Two. Three.

"Ah hah!" John said, clapping his hands. "Paper wraps rock, my friend." 

D'Argo growled in reply. "That is so unrealistic." He pointed the tip of his weapon at Crais. "If you touch one thing in my quarters I will see to it your alternative plan has no means to come to fruition."

Crais raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps, Crichton, it would be better if I bunked with you."

"Perhaps…I think not, Crais. You two can serenade each other." John turned and looked at the three women in the room.

"Wait a microt, what about Rygel. One of us won't have to share quarters with Rygel will we?" Jool whined, flicking nervously at her bodice again.

"Rygel never touches the ground. He can sleep wherever he pleases and this 'stuff' won't effect him in the slightest. In case you haven't noticed, he didn't even bother wander in here for this little meeting." Chiana's voice didn't even bother to try to mask her contempt for her partner in crime.

"Go easy on him, Chi," John said quietly, "He's a lot of bluster, but I think he's hurting too after the whole Orrhn incident." Chiana nodded solemnly, then smiled in that way of hers that passed for playful and sexy and childlike all in an instant.

"So, which of you get the pleasure of my company for the evening." She waggled her eyebrows at John. He ignored her.

"The fair way to do this is to pick numbers." John pulled a pen out of his utility belt and scratched a number in his hand. "Whoever guesses the number closest to this one," he held up his fist, indicating the number written inside, "gets to bunk with the lovely Chi tonight." John nodded at Jool. "C'mon sweet thang, between one and twenty."

"Oh, this is ridiculous. Twelve."

"Aeryn?" He watched her tenderly touch the bandage on her chin, her finger sliding up to worry at the one suture put in the wound over her eye. Assessing the damage. Deciding whether or not it was worth trying again.

"One."

John opened his palm. He hoped the sweat hadn't worn away the home made ink he used. He gave up on holding his shaky hand steady and masked it by moving it quickly in front of everyone's eyes. "Thirteen."

Jool pouted. "I can't even read that horrible language of yours. How do I know you're not lying?"

Aeryn grabbed his palm and pulled it towards her for inspection. Her fingers were cool, steady. He wanted to lace his own through hers and draw each finger to his mouth. "I can," she said, "One. Three. Thirteen." She met his eyes.

"If you want to bunk with someone else…," he started to say quietly.

"I've shared co-gender accommodations before." She stood up and steadied herself., pushing off from a console to slide half way across the floor. She took a few mincing steps towards another console and repeated the process. When she had exited command John realized, amidst his mental dance of joy, all eyes were on him.

He shrugged. "Lucky thirteen."

"Do you think," D'Argo started.

"That this is very wise." Crais finished for him. They looked at each other and frowned.

Inside John's mind he was a preteen again. It was like being back in junior high school and the pretty girl had said hi. That must obviously mean she likes me. It never occurs to you until you're in college some girls are just nice. She must like me, she sat next to me in math class. It never occurs to you it was the last empty seat. Aeryn didn't run screaming in the other direction. Aeryn didn't demand other accommodations. It does, unfortunately, occur to you that she's too tired from mourning to care. But that's just a minor mental glitch that's easily pushed aside for happier thoughts.

The words of concerned friends were just white noise as John made his own precarious way to the door. Thoughts were shifting and coalescing in his mind too fast for him to keep up. It was only the simplest of ideas that eventually managed to shine through his preteen regressive haze. Even if he had to sleep on the floor, he'd be able to hear her breath in the odd hours of the night. He'd be able to hear her shift on the bed. In those lovely dark creases of his mind the past several cycles, the past few monens in particular he'd become a master at pretend.

Even amidst the emotional soup his brain had become in the last several microts, John remembered there was one last order of business. "Chi, Jool, one of you, whichever one Pilot is less pissed at these days, go down to his den and tell him we're moving back to our own quarters. Don't bother comming him, I don't think he's listening."

"What's Pilot's problem?" Jool asked, easing herself off the console and arranging her dress over her backside.

"Oh c'mon, Miss I Know Everything. Think about it. Pilot's connected to Moya in every sense of the word. Crais here gets to go out and get him a little and Pilot just gets to sit in front of his blinking lights and fantasize. I'd get pretty irrational, too."

Jool shrugged. "Actually, that explains a lot of behavior aboard this ship."


	4. Chapter Four

John sat at his chess set, chin resting in the space between thumb and forefinger and pretended not to watch Aeryn stow her belongings in the space he had made for her on his shelf. She moved slowly, deliberately, as though trying not to let any of her stuff touch his. As though trying not to touch anything of his herself. They had been back aboard Moya enough days now for John to have heard bits and pieces of Aeryn's grieving process, the days right after her lover's death, the days spent on Valldon. She had returned to Talyn cold and competent and in full command of herself but, as even Crais would admit, it is was a far cry from any improvement.

She finished laying out a neat stack of clothes. Trousers, undergarments, shirts. John watched her straighten but she did not turn around. His chess ruse was forgotten as he watched her back, stiff and straight, her head held in military revue stance, as a hand seemed to reach out with a will of its own and brush over his own clothes as they lay piled next to hers, though not nearly as neatly. Just a casual brush, the hand moving as though coming up to touch the bulkhead and his clothes had simply gotten in the way of its path.

He suddenly felt guilty. He shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be forcing her to relive a dream for the sake of his own fantasy. He looked at his hand. Lucky thirteen my ass, he thought.

He watched Aeryn do a brief survey of the room. "I'll take the floor," she said.

"I don't think so," he answered, the words coming out before any gray matter could intercede. She tilted her head in his direction, but still would not look at him. "I'll take the floor."

"I believe I am used to less than optimal accommodations more so than you are. I will take the floor." She started to spread out a bedroll in the far corner of the room.

"Aeryn, quit the PK crap. There's a comfortable bed, use it. Camping out a night or two isn't going to kill me." John stood up, ready to take the blanket out of her hands. It was irrational, really, but suddenly it seemed the most important point in the universe that Aeryn Sun was warm and comfortable, tucked into his bed and not curled up like a dog on the floor.

"Don't be unreasonable, John. The cold will only aggravate your shoulder injury. If you're concerned with comfort, then I will be much more comfortable down here than you will be." She still hadn't looked at him, and her voice, previously toneless and reasonable was starting to creep towards irritated.

John wondered how she knew about the shoulder that had first been dislocated in a motorcycle accident, and then by Crais in Maldis' castle. Well, there was a no brainer. He wondered what else she knew about him. If they ever could get their dren together, would she just find him old and redundant? He mentally shrugged, worry about that when…if…we come to it. It would be worth finding out.

"Ok, fine. Then we'll both sleep in the bed." This got her full attention, and he ended up looking at the floor rather than weather her gaze.

"I don't think so, John." Her voice was thin, tight, a hairs breadth away from pulling a weapon.

"I know, I know. I don't mean it like that. God, I don't ever mean it like that. No, I got an idea." John jumped into action, rooting through his shelves like a child who suddenly realizes he's mislaid his favorite toy.

Aeryn watched him, trying to find that place in herself again where nothing mattered, but at a glance John thought he saw amusement find its way to her face anyway.

John held up a coil of filament with a victory cry, then leaped onto his bed and began examining the bulkhead. 

"What are you doing?" Aeryn asked, the bed roll momentarily forgotten.

"I was never a good sleeper. Back home. I couldn't sleep, always too much going on up here," he pointed at his head and shrugged, "not that you'd know that these days. Y'know, I'd just doze off and some damn computation would jump into my head and there I was, wide awake again scribbling notes." 

John found an appropriate crevice in Moya's internal skin and threaded the wire through. He dropped the remaining line onto the bed as he tried to secure it over his head.

"Thank God for late night TV. Around two in the morning they would start running all these old black and white movies, after Letterman and Carson and whoever else," he knew he was talking too much, but she hadn't told him to shut up yet and it felt good just to have her ear, "and there was this one with, oh, what's his name? Clark Gable. Cary Grant. Y'know, out here it doesn't make much of a difference who it was anymore, huh?" He wound the line like a twist tie on a bag of bread and jumped off the bed, stringing the remaining line out along the length of the room so it was divided neatly in half.

Aeryn had moved back towards the shelf, leaning against it with her arms pressed behind herself, supporting her. Occasionally she squinted out of her left eye, as though the suture irritated her. Or perhaps it was just his inane babble. John looked up, dropping the line again to drag a chair over so he could reach the same space he had used to secure the thin cable on the far side of the room.

Barely keeping himself balanced on his toes, he continued his story, anxiety and hope in equal parts giving his voice a near manic quality.

"So, this guy and this girl had to share a room back in a time when it was really not acceptable for an unmarried couple to be sharing a room together."

"Yet another example of how backwards your species is," she interjected.

"Yeah, well, you've never given us high marks for brains." John finished his work and checked the tension in the line. It satisfied him with a sound like a badly tuned guitar. Still perched on the chair, he reached for the bed roll. "Hand me that, would you?"

She looked at the bed roll then back at him like he had just asked for something in a language her microbes couldn't hope to interpret.

"Trust me." Her face tightened into a frown at the words but she finally bent over and retrieved the blanket from the floor. John tried not to appreciate the view too much. Clearing his throat nervously, he jumped off the chair and climbed back onto the bed, stringing the blanket over the line so that it neatly partitioned the bed, creating two separate but identical halves, with the utmost privacy between. John stood back and surveyed his handiwork.

"And that's supposed to make everything alright?" Aeryn asked acidly from behind him. He tried not to smile. Leave it to his girl to play her part on cue. His girl. She wasn't his now, if she ever had been. Something gnawed at him just under his sternum and he tried to ignore how painful this was becoming.

He gestured towards the makeshift wall with a flourish, like a game show host. "Behold, the Walls of Jericho."

She still stood at the back of the room, one hand resting on her belt buckle, the other on her weapon. John turned back to the bed, talking now as much to mask his own anxiety as to impart on her any cultural information about his home world.

"Yeah, well, I know it doesn't look very impressive, but in some religion, some Earth mythology, the Walls of Jericho stood thousands upon thousands of years until Joshua blew them down with a trumpet."

"They couldn't have been that sturdy if a man could destroy them with a musical instrument."

John sighed. "It's an allegory Aeryn. Joshua had the power of God with him. It took the power of God to do away with the Walls of Jericho."

"So what does this have to do with a man and woman sharing quarters?"

John rested his hand against his brow. He never recalled it ever being this difficult explaining a movie before.

"Look…Just…" John sighed. "My side, your side. Now lay down on the goddamn bed and get some sleep. It would take Joshua himself with a frelling trumpet to come in here and blow revelie before one of us violates this frelling barrier. Got it?" He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but he felt like if he didn't yell he was just going to break down in tears and that just wouldn't do at all.

Aeryn stood back and considered the bed for a moment more before moving around to the right side and lying down, hair braided, boots on and all. John sighed. It was a start. He sat on his side of the bed and stared out the open door as he unlaced his boots. The gnawing became deeper, harder, like an animal scratching and clawing at his rib cage. He unhitched his holster and lay it on the floor next to his bed. Carefully lying back against the pillows so as not to disturb the blanket that hung between himself and the woman he so desperately loved, he almost wished he had died instead of the Other, just so she could be with him now. That little emotional parasite took a deep bite and swallowed greedily as John realized she had naturally gravitated to the other side of the bed. Her side. Whenever he had shared a bed with a woman he always took the right side, and she invariably ended up on the left. It was a throwback to days when his sisters crowded into bed with him and they all slept like gerbils, his back pressed against the wall, someone's hair in his face. Aeryn had known her side. They lay, left and right, as natural as night and day. If he were allowed, he knew they would wake nestled together like spoons, one arm draped over her thin belly, the other framing her head, his hand buried in a thick nest of hair. But not tonight. Anything like that would get him shot, most likely. And if I never get the chance, he thought, I might just as well shoot myself.

He fell asleep with one arm flung over his eyes, trying to ignore the uneven breathing and restless twitching of Aeryn's body so close to his. Beware what you wish for, he thought before falling into a dream about waxen wings and angels with trumpets.

John and D'Argo were sitting in John's quarters, a flagon of liquor between them and a plate of what John would say passed for bread and cheese. He didn't really want to know what it was, in some things ignorance was bliss.

"So," D'Argo said casually, "how did it go last night?"

"I still have all my 'pieces' attached, so better than expected, I guess." John shrugged, taking another long draw off the flagon. "Hey, do you really think it's wise to mix alcohol with all that super snot out there?"

"I don't see how it could make things any worse," D'Argo answered, holding his hand out for the flask.

"Good point. How's Casanova?" John looked over towards the bed, where Aeryn's body still lay in outline on his bed cover.

"Who? Crais?" D'Argo growled a reply that John's microbes were unable to translate.

"That bad?" 

"He sounds like a rutting bovine when he sleeps."

John laughed. It was a hard sound. Humorless. "You got the rutting part right. But then again, so do you."

"John, do you really think it's healthy for you two to be sharing quarters?"

"D'Argo, it's not like they wrote the etiquette book for what to do when your double dies. Nothing around here is healthy. Aeryn and I being on the same ship isn't healthy, but I am at such a loss right now it seems like the least of all evils. Maybe, somehow, we can at least come to an understanding."

"You shouldn't force it, John. Your relationship before she left Moya was tenuous at best. And now…" D'Argo didn't have the words to complete the thought.

"Y'know, my other said the same thing. And mentally I know it's the truth, but emotionally I just can't seem to reach that place. I mean, it's killing me to know she's capable of loving me…"

"Ah, but," D'Argo lowered his voice, "you are dead to her now. It is painful, I know, friend, but of all obstacles death is the hardest to overcome. Although," D'Argo raised the bottle in toast, "if anyone can overcome that it's you two."

"How long did it take you to get over losing your wife?" John asked, looking at his large friend from under a bent head. 

"You never get over it, my friend," D'Argo replied, "you learn to live with it. I at least had hatred to end my grieving. You do not have that luxury." The Luxan's voice had gone painfully cold. He and John sat in silence for several moments after, simply passing the drink back and forth.

Trying to change the subject, John watched a DRD trundle through his quarters and push back the gelatinous goo that slipped and oozed along the corridor outside. "So I see the girls were successful getting through to Pilot."

D'Argo snorted. "I would ONLY send the girls. If you are male, he wants nothing to do with you, and if you are female it behooves you stand out of grabbing distance."

"Excuse me? Pilot?" John couldn't help but me amused. "Mr. All-that's-missing-is-the-bowler-and-tea- at-four Pilot?"

"He's acting like Rygel. Or at least he's acting like Rygel would act if he had four arms." D'Argo didn't bother to mask the disgust in his voice.

John grimaced at the mental picture. Who would have thought Pilot had a lecherous bone in his body?

"Do you have a plan yet?" D'Argo asked as short time later. He shook the empty bottle and frowned.

"Right now?" John stood up and walked over to the bed, laying a hand on the impression of Aeryn's body. "Just get through the day without breaking my neck either intentionally or otherwise."

D'Argo stood up and paused at the door. "Good plan," he said, starting the long slide towards the central chamber.


	5. Chapter Five

John had spent most of the day in his cell, having neither the energy nor the inclination to search out anyone else on the ship. D'Argo had been kind enough to bring him food and get him drunk, and that was enough activity for one day. He was actually starting to sober up when he felt Moya buckle and roll. He looked up to catch Aeryn coming at him like a speed skater on nitro. The impact knocked them both back on the bed, both momentarily dazed and confused. They lay there, breaths heaving against each other while they tried to get their bearings. 

John didn't dare touch her. He caught her like he'd just been sacked in a scrimmage and lay against the bed, arms at his sides, waiting for her to right the situation. Of course, at that moment for him, the situation couldn't have been anymore right. It was a horrible, deranged hybrid of fantasy and reality. He could feel her thigh between his legs, just enough weight to make him try to think of baseball and nuns. He could see the clear sutures in her chin, where she had taken off the bandage, thin and shiny against the angry red of the closed wound. The yellow tones of the bruise fading underneath her eye. The scent of her and her leathers foreign and familiar at the same time. It would be so easy to wrap his arms around her, to shift his weight and roll and feel her body beneath his, to feel her cool lips pressed to his own. To get himself killed.

It was barely a microt and a half before she tried to scramble to her feet, her boots still so slick with Moya's lubricant that she only succeeded in skidding and slipping against John. He grunted as he took a knee to the groin and reached out to grab her by her upper arms.

"Just. Hold. Still. A. Microt." He said through clenched teeth. Her eyes went hard and she turned her face to the wall as she complied.

John laid her gently on the bed, her feet still dangling on the floor. He sucked in his first breath and resisted the urge to puke as it felt like his testicles crawled out of his liver. He bent over her boots and unbuckled them, the effort of such a simple task seeming monumental for a dichotomy of reasons, the least of which being his current physical agony.

He set the boots on a cleaning rag and sat down heavily next to her. "There, now you can move without injuring either one of us." Without a word she picked up her boots and moved around to her side of the bed. Her side of the bed. God what a twisted universe I live in, John thought.

"I mean, I realize you have no use for them anymore, but I might sometime in the future." John continued to mutter under his breath. He sucked air heavily between clenched teeth and wiped the sweat off his face.

"The solvent is on the shelf," John called out, louder really than was necessary. He felt the bed shift as she got up and he heard the water in the shower running. "Next to the chakon oil cartridges," he finished, though his voice was now hardly above a whisper. Aeryn was currently naked in his quarters, and he had all the standing in her eyes of being not much more significant than a single headed tralkez.

John pondered his life for a moment, sitting cross legged on his corner of the bed, arms resting against his knees and running a finger nervously over his lips. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort, he checked the location of his side arm, slid out of his shirt and pulled his blanket up over himself. He didn't bother to com Pilot about the odd motion of the ship. If it had been serious the rest of the crew would have alerted him, and he didn't expect any sort of answer from Pilot until his and Moya's more esoteric needs were met.

Something caught his eye as he shifted in the bed. He looked at his hand. Two days later and the ink held fast. Lucky thirteen. The inkling of a thought started. It was like looking at a puzzle you knew you could put together, if you just had the time. Her hand on his on command. Her certainty at knowing his language. Had she bothered to learn to read to English? He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the number. She'd known. That meant he had taught her. The Other had taught her their language. His language. That made it now even more likely that his notebook was still in her possession. It's one thing to keep something that means nothing to you but you knew it meant everything to the absent lover. But if she could read the language now, she could sit and visit with him page after page.

Had he shown her Huey, Dewey, and Louie? Had he shown her his guiding star? The blanket that separated them drifted and he could smell the fresh scent of cleaning compound and water. Insomnia is the bane of the broken hearted. He was suddenly angry that she could know exactly how he felt about her, know every hope and dream he had for them and still be able to shut him out. Not only shut him out, but shut him down so coldly she was beginning to make Scorpy look like Santa Claus.

"…but we will not act on it…" pain and passion in each other's arms. The frost of the chamber forgotten as they collapsed together under the weight of their burden. For them, love was a burden. Those arns when she had returned from the dead were the best he'd had since landing out here in the land of lost. They'd all thought Scorpy was dead, his clone was under lock and key, and he and Aeryn knew they loved each other. She was alive and he wouldn't deny it another microt the moment he could lay eyes and arms on her. Except he hadn't counted on her denying it. Denying him. What had he expected, for her to collapse in his arms and make love right there, under the frozen guardianship of the surviving Interons? 

The punch line to the whole thing was that she had acted on it. But the universe had flipped a coin and this good ol' boy had come out on the losing end. Again. Except, he had to face facts, Aeryn herself was not Lady Luck either. The two men she had ever loved in her life had died horrible, tragic deaths. How was she supposed to act? He didn't know whether it was a good thing or not that she was, for all intents and purposes, acting normally given the situation. Normal. Oh God, what WAS normal anymore?

He wondered if she ever thought about that day in the cold cargo chamber. If she still thought about the night they shared on the false earth. If she still remembered their first kiss in a cold transport pod, their oxygen dwindling and their lives with it. Did she remember running blindly down corridors they'd never seen before, his sanity slipping wildly away, stopping to kiss her. He had needed her to anchor himself and it had worked. He had been desperate to tell her then how much he loved her, but she knew. Did she remember that moment? He closed his eyes, one tear slipping down to drown in the fabric of his pillow. No, she remembered other moments he had no recollection of. She remembered times and places he'd never know. She remembered making love with a man who had taken the time to teach her his language before dying. The man whose bed she shared now only bore his face, not his soul.

Johns dreams that night were full of ice and frozen kisses on clay lips.

"Where's Crichton?" Chiana asked.

Aeryn didn't look up from the landing strut on D'Argo's ship. The oozing streams of gelatinous goo had given way to a fine sheen of clear oil. This was, however, a far cry from any improvement as it made the previous material seem tacky in appearance and texture. Aeryn moved as if in slow motion.

"Did you hear me?" Chiana asked from her seat on the maintenance bench.

"I heard you, Chiana," Aeryn replied coldly. "It's not my job to be his keeper."

"Yeah, well, I know, it's just that," Chiana paused, chewing her lip as she tried to find the right words. "I just thought since you two were sharing quarters…"

"It's only a matter of circumstance." Aeryn decided Moya's lubricant hadn't penetrated the machine well and moved carefully to another landing strut.

"I realize," Chiana replied defensively, trying to assume a more casual posture than her voice would allow, "but--" Aeryn's look stopped her thought cold. Both women seemed to hold their breath until Aeryn relaxed and returned to her inspection.

"Chiana, let's just agree not to discuss Crichton."

Never a woman known to heed caution, Chiana took a deep breath, crouched low on the table so that her knees seemed to rest on either side of her ears and said, "You know what Aeryn, I think that's exactly what you need. I mean, the last time you wouldn't talk about it John ran off and got married."

Aeryn became a statue with her hand wedged into the machine well of the landing strut. Without lifting her head or bothering to remove her hand she said quietly, bitterly, "Chiana, do not presume to know what I need. All I need right now is for you to drop this discussion."

Chiana cocked her head and smiled. In the face of such a calm response she felt bold. "Aeryn, we have all been dancing around the subject since you came back aboard. I'm sorry you lost John, your John. We're all sorry. But this John is still alive and doesn't deserve to be treated like he's beneath your contempt. He's suffering too, you know."

Aeryn stood up slowly, using the body of the ship to guide herself towards Chiana's perch. Chiana coiled her legs underneath her, ready to spring and run if she had to. She watched the ex-Peacekeeper approach, her legs stiff and slow on Moya's slick floor. Her gait would have been comical if the intent on her face hadn't been so deadly.

Aeryn stopped in front of the gray Nebari, cocking her head as though trying to see something she hadn't noticed before. The soldier lashed out faster than Chiana had ever seen her move and before she could bolt or scream Aeryn's fingers were around her throat. They did not constrict her air, but their implied restraint was clear.

"Listen to me, you little Nebari trelk," Aeryn hissed, "until you spend a monen of your life wishing you were dead, living with a ghost and reliving every moment you spent together hoping it'll be enough to put you back together, or tear you down to a place where it won't matter anymore, then you can talk to me. Until then, accept this fact: John is dead. He is dead and I have to accept that. Do you understand this?"

Chiana nodded her head carefully, noticing Aeryn's fingers had begun to grip dangerously as her voice progressed from a smooth and controlled whisper to a volatile hiss. The younger woman watched the thin veneer of a control slip from Aeryn's eyes and for the space of a microt she read such pain she hoped never in her lifetime to have to experience any of the same. Realizing she was nearly strangling the Nebari girl, Aeryn released her without another word and returned to her work as though nothing had happened, her Peacekeeper mask back in place.

Chiana eased her way off the work bench and tried to unobtrusively make her way out of the maintenance bay. She encountered Jool just behind the door, breathing heavy and eyes wide.

"What did she do to you?" The red head asked.

Chiana gingerly touched her neck. "Nothing I didn't deserve."

Jool frowned at the cerulean blue bruises forming on the perfect alabaster Nebari skin. She grabbed Chiana's jaw and tilted her head roughly to get a better view. "What did you say to her?" she asked in a rough whisper. 

Chi jerked her head out of Jool's hand and started walking, holding onto the wall for support. "I pushed and I shouldn't have, is all. I just…I just feel bad for John taking the brunt of her bad mood. He deserves better than that."

"Chiana," Jool said, struggling to keep up with her shipmate, "I don't deny that. But keep in mind what Aeryn is going through."

"What?" the other girl asked, her voice taking an edge, "I mean, when I thought Neri was dead if someone had bothered to tell me 'oh, by the way, his exact double is right over there' do you think I would have tracked him down just to treat him like it was all his fault in the first place? How many second chances does the universe give you?"

They came to an intersection and Jool jerked her head, indicating they should move towards the medical bay. 

"It's not a second chance, Chiana. It's not like she woke up one morning and had another chance to start over with the same guy on Talyn. Now she has to get up every day and look at our John and relive every minute with a dead man."

Chiana smiled wickedly as they entered the medical bay. "I don't know…from what Rygel said those memories don't seem that bad to relive. I wouldn't mind having a few of them myself."

"The other Crichton died from radiation sickness, right?" Jool motioned for Chiana to get up on a table.

"Yeah, so?"

"Have you ever seen anyone die from massive radiation poisoning?" Chiana noticed Jool's voice take on that superior quality it had when she went into full doctor mode.

"I can't say that I have." Chiana conceded.

Jool began mixing liquids in a small basin and continued talking. "Crichton probably suffered from massive internal bleeding. He had burns on whatever part of his body came in contact with the radiation source. From what little information I gathered about his species when he was wounded, he would have had nose bleeds, nausea, vomiting, each system in his body would have given out one by one within a matter of arns."

"Okay, okay, enough with the pretty picture." Chiana said, wrinkling her nose. "What are you getting at?"

Jool came back and applied a cool cloth to the bruises darkening around Chiana's neck. "Here, hold this here and they'll repair themselves shortly," Jool took Chiana's hand and put it over the cloth. "And what I'm getting at is the fact that Aeryn is not remembering playing comparative anatomy in every dark hold aboard Talyn, what she remembers when she sees Crichton is tending his wounds and knowing he was never going recover no matter what she did. If you had seen your brother die, if you had held him in your arms, would you be so quick to welcome a duplicate?"

Chiana removed the cloth from her neck and gingerly nudged at the fading bruises. "Like I said, she didn't do anything I didn't deserve."


	6. Chapter Six

"Crais getting any better?" John asked, staring absently out the window of the central chamber. A nebula hung in the distance, and for a moment he found it odd how he now thought in terms of light years instead of miles.

"Not, exactly." D'Argo replied, pushing some food onto John's plate. "A man needs to eat. You've been moping around here since Aeryn got back and I can only suppose that frail human physique can only take so much starvation."

John ignored the food. "What's 'not exactly'?"

D'Argo motioned at John's plate. "Eat first."

John sighed and took a bite, wagging his fork at D'Argo. "I'm going to start calling you Aunt Ruth. Now, what's not exactly?"

"He's requested a little…personal space. For an arn or so."

"Oh man!" John shoved the plate away from himself. "How can you eat with THAT mental image going around in your head?"

D'Argo looked at his food and shrugged, taking another bite. "I'm hungry."

"Where are the girls?" John frowned, suddenly more worried than disturbed.

"Not anywhere near him. I sent him down to the tech quarters. Chiana is in the maintenance bay with Aeryn and Jool is in medical. They're all perfectly safe." D'Argo took another enormous bite and motioned back at John's plate. "Eat," he growled.

"Dude, I don't think so."

"What's the matter, John, don't humans--"

John cut him off. "Uh uh…yeah, we do. But we don't talk about it, as a general rule. And NOT at the dinner table." D'Argo shrugged again while John pushed the food around on his own plate.

John stared past D'Argo at the softly moving starscape. "I hate to sound like a six year old, but…are we there yet?"

"According to Jool," D'Argo answered, "because of Moya's 'condition' she's moving a little slower than usual, so we may not arrive at the commerce planet for an extra solar day or so."

"And this doesn't bother you?"

"I'd rather not be sliding around like a pair of mating flibisks, and I would rather not be sharing quarters with the likes of Crais, but there are advantages to circumstances that prevent your friends from running off and getting themselves killed." D'Argo stopped eating and stared pointedly at John.

John sighed and rested his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. "So you're sitting this one out, big guy?"

"I didn't say that. What kind of friend would I be to go off and LET you get killed? But I'm still not going to enjoy seeing it when it happens." D'Argo returned to his meal.

"You're faith overwhelms me," John answered sarcastically, finally taking a bite of his own dinner.

John returned to his quarters to find Aeryn standing with her back to the door, her fingers gently caressing something. He knocked on the latticework of the cell door and she spun, a guilty look on her face as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn't. In her hands, a thumb still caressed Stark's mask.

John licked his lips, wondering what this meant. "Am I interrupting something?"

She set the mask quickly back on the shelf. "No, I was just wondering where Stark is."

Stark? Or the other John? "You know Stark. He's probably not even corporeal anymore."

Pulling herself quickly together Aeryn said, "It was just a passing thought. Nothing important." The tiniest hint of vulnerability, humanity, that he had caught in the set of her mouth, the cast of her eyes was gone in a microt as she straightened her back and lifted her chin.

"Your stitches," John nodded with his head, "they look like they're healing well."

"Jool is a competent surgeon. It's good to see she's found a purpose around here." John watched her move to the far side of the bed, out of his line of sight. The conversation was over.

It was perhaps a quarter of the way through his sleep cycle when John opened his eyes, feeling watched. It wasn't an uncommon feeling for him, considering since Harvey had taken up permanent residence he never was really alone anymore. Before Harvey, there was always the constant presence of the DRDs. But this was different. This was a palpable gaze. This was waking up an hour after you've snuck back into the house to find mom and dad on either side of your bed. This was opening your eyes to find Hubbel doing the doggy equivalent of the gotta pee dance with the leash in his mouth. This was waking to find your fraternity brothers have painted your finger and toenails bright fuchsia pink, and there's no acetone to be found in a ten mile radius. Whatever the circumstance, it was waking in familiar space feeling lost.

"Aeryn?" he whispered.

"John." His name came to him without any attempt to mask its volume. He felt the curtain between them shift and rustle, as though it were being pulled back into place. Had she been watching him sleep?

"Do you need something?" he asked. He didn't know what else to say.

"No." Silence. He rolled over, forcing his eyes to close though he was no longer tired. Then, "I apologize if I injured you yesterday."

"That's ok. It's not like the boys needed therapy or anything." And it was. She could have castrated him if it meant he could be lying here now, listening to her voice lose some of its chill.

When he was finally able to go back to sleep, his mind wandered into a lifetime that couldn't have possibly have been his, he and Aeryn, old and happy. The dreams were satisfying, and for the first time in monens, he awoke at the end of his sleep cycle feeling like he had actually rested.

They all looked at Crais who returned their stares with sheepish chagrin. "I have already apologized. What more do you want? My blood?"

"Don't tempt us, lover boy." John replied. He lay a gentle hand on Jool's shoulder. "You okay?"

She nodded, though her hair was still a bright flaming red indicating her true emotional state. John was used to her anger, and when he had initially heard her metal melting screams he hadn't hurried to see what the problem was. With Jool, it was always something. But the single tear that slipped from the corner of an impossibly green eye was too much for him.

"Ok, here's the deal. You get your own room. You get confined to your own room. Take a nap. Take a cold shower. Relieve some tension. I don't care. But if any of us catch you out and about until you are being escorted to a transport pod, we're all going to pick an appendage and make a wish. Got it?"

"Commander Crichton, I--" John held up a hand and Crais cut his thought short.

"I don't want to hear it. Let's just get through the next couple of days without anyone losing their head." John looked pointedly at D'Argo, who had his Qualta blade in rifle mode and aimed directly at the ex-Peacekeeper captain. D'Argo snarled but lowered the weapon. 

As he brushed roughly past Crais, the huge Luxan paused and said, "That does not necessarily mean the head on your shoulders."

"Understood, Luxan." Crais nodded, following him out of medical and in the direction of the tech quarters.

John heard a familiar click behind him and realized Aeryn had just holstered her weapon. Without another word she turned and left the room.

"Pip, why don't you take Jool back to quarters and let her take a nap or something?" John leveraged himself up onto a work table and tried to smile at the two girls.

Only Chiana smiled back. "Nap? Hezmana, she needs to bathe."

"Jool, you sure you're ok? You need to talk?" John patted the bench next to him, inviting her to take a seat.

"He, he was helping me with the boolite. I mean, we don't even know its name yet." Tears still slid unnoticed from one magnificent green eye. Chiana gently wiped it away for her. "And then he started saying all this dren about how exotic I was…"

"Oh yeah, guys just love to go for the 'exotic' line," Chiana interjected.

"And how he'd never been with a non-Sebacean before…" her face started to contort and John prepared himself for another wail but all she did was sniffle pitifully. "And I told him I wasn't interested in being his exception to the rule and then, and then…"

"Ok, ok. Jool, go take a shower. We get the idea. Just stay away from the tech quarters and hopefully we won't have to worry about Casanova bothering any of you girls until we get wherever it is we're going." John brushed his hand over her head gently as she walked past. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but his fingers got caught for a moment in her ring curls and came away with a small pelt weaving it's way between his knuckles. As he tried to shake the clinging strands away, he decided it was probably a good thing Jool's outfit needed a shoe horn to get in and out of. It would have been unfortunate if he and D'Argo had to been forced to turn the good captain into sushi before he was done 'taking care of business'.

John sat on his bed scribbling in his notebook. He was hoping something would leap out at him, some answer to all his grand mysteries, the first and foremost of those being Aeryn. All he got was a lot of ruminating about his old notebook, about Stark's mask, about his place in the universe.

'Was I supposed to die? Am I supposed to be dead right now? Is that what the grand plan was? John Crichton, astronaut, got shot through a wormhole, fell in love and died. How's that for an epitaph? Zhaan always said believe in the plan. Time and patience. All things will be made known to you. I get the sneaking suspicion I'm not supposed to be here anymore, and the only plan the universe has for me involves fixing a mistake. Why would I want Aeryn to fall in love with me again if I'm only meant to be a transient presence in the part of the universe? In her life? What if she's destined for great things and I've already played my part?'

"What are you doing!" John jerked his head up at the sound of Aeryn's voice. The venom with which she spoke caused his pen to skid in a long thin line over the paper and what he had already written.

"I'm writing." John answered slowly. Was this a trick question?

"You couldn't ask me? You had to go through my belongings?" Aeryn moved as if to snatch the notebook from him but skittered wildly on the floor. Clutching the wall for support, her lips set in a thin line, she held out her hand.

"Hold it right there. This one's mine." Though completely unnecessary, John held the notebook over his head and out of reach.

"It WAS yours, Crichton." She flexed her fingers as if to say "give it to me, now".

"No," John answered, "this one IS mine. I replaced it when you and he jumped ship. If you've got the other one stashed somewhere, it's still safe. Although, I might add, that notebook was mine too."

"You replaced it. Of course you did." Aeryn muttered to herself as she crossed the room. She sat on the corner of the bed and took off her boots. John watched her and for the moment it seemed she had expended all of her energy on that one expression of crisis and was now defenseless. He was afraid to speak. He was afraid the sound of his breath would remind her of his presence and all the walls would return, fortified.

He looked at her profile, her wounds nearly healed by that amazing Sebacean physiology of hers. Her hair pulled tightly off her face in it's braid. One lip tucked into her mouth, her eyes heavy with burden.

"I…I'm sorry he died," John said.

She stood up and picked up her boots, moving around to her side of the bed and her protective screen.

"So am I," she replied. Her voice was unemotional, but it no longer clung to its hard, brittle timbre. He heard the click and clatter of her gun belt as she disarmed herself and laid it on the bed. In the past few days he'd grown use to her routine, and wondered if she had adopted the same one she had maintained as a Peacekeeper. Remove her weapons. Disrobe, shower, change clothes and spend the evening cleaning the goo off her boots and doing weapons maintenance. She rarely spoke, and for John it was like living with a ghost. Well, he thought, I suppose it's like that on both sides of the wall. 

Later that night, John lay in bed, hands tucked behind his head, working on the courage to say something else. His doppelganger had warned him, 'she takes time'. Would this be pushing it? He felt her settle in, her incessant moving and shuffling finally coming to a standstill.

He opened and closed his mouth several times before the words actually came out. "Aeryn, are you talking to me now?"

Silence. He closed his eyes. 

"I was never not talking to you, John, I just didn't have anything to say."

Fair enough. "My notebook. The, uh, other notebook."

"What about it?" Cool, careful. 

"There's information in there I'd like to have back."

"There's information in there that's none of your business."

"Aeryn, I don't think I want to know the particulars of your relationship. You had one, that's enough information for me to wrap my mind around. But there were computations, star charts…" He turned his head as though he could look at her face.

Another long silence. "It's all I have, John. Don't ask me to give it back."

The grief in her voice was enough to make John lose his breath for a microt. Cruel. Cruel and selfish. "I'll, uh, try to recreate them from memory."

What else could he do? He wasn't about to demand the return of something she held dearer possibly than anything else in her life, except perhaps the person who had bequeathed it to her.

His unconscious ramblings were full of long empty corridors, the walls covered in a script that was familiar but unreadable, and the deep abiding and all pervasive feeling of being alone.


	7. Chapter Seven

"What do you mean 'another solar day'?" D'Argo bellowed. He and Chiana stood in the middle of her quarters, Jool still asleep and neatly tucked in under Chiana's fire silk linens.

John frowned at her sleeping form. It hadn't stirred, even in light of D'Argo's outburst.

"Uh, Chi, what's up with Sleeping Beauty here?" He walked carefully over to the bed, rested the backside of his hand just under her nose. A soft breath tickled his knuckles.

Chiana smiled at him. One of her mischievous cat smiles. "She couldn't sleep last night so I gave her a little something."

"Jesus Chi, what the hell did you give her, a knock upside the head?" John noticed Aeryn frown from where she stood with her back pressed against the latticework of the cell door. She kept herself apart. Attentive but aloof. John noticed Aeryn seemed uncomfortable, suddenly, around the young Nebari.

"Oh, relax. Zhaan used to give me something when I used to wander the ship all night. I think she was afraid I was going to steal a transport pod or something. Look, I just gave her a few drops."

"Chi, you don't know how that stuff is going to react to Interon physiology. How irresponsible can you get?" John lifted Jool's head but it lolled uselessly to the side.

"Look, if I could have I would have mind cleansed her just to get the thought of Crais touching her out of her mind. This was the best I could do. She's breathing. She's quiet. Life is good." Chiana nodded her head emphatically to punctuate each statement.

D'Argo looked back and forth between the three of them, John, Jool, and Chiana. Even though John couldn't hear it, he could almost see the growl building up in his massive friend.

"Ok, one crisis at a time. Jool's ok. You probably gave it to her enough arns ago that she would have had a reaction to it already." John gently laid her head back on the pillows and arranged the covers over her again. "Now what's this about ANOTHER solar day?"

"I'm just the messenger. If you don't like what he has to say, go see him yourself. But he says we strayed off course because Talyn thought he detected signals from other Leviathans."

"Ok, then, let the orgy begin." John looked expectantly at Chiana.

"Except they weren't Leviathans. They were false radio signals."

"Who the frell sends false Leviathan radio signals?" John and Aeryn looked at each other.

"Peacekeepers," they answered simultaneously. "It's how they capture Leviathans," Aeryn finished, her hand moving instinctively to her side arm. Tell her there was a Peacekeeper aboard, tell her there was a Peacekeeper a light year away, it always invoked the same reaction.

"Ok, then Junior had enough common sense to high tail it out of there. Right? Please Chiana, I don't want anymore bad news." Chiana looked nervously at John.

"Pilot thinks so, but can't say for certain. He just knows that we wasted time getting there, and now we've wasted time getting back to our original destination."

"Great, two horny Leviathans, and a command carrier. Throw in a bottle of champagne and we got us a party." John pressed his hands to his eyes and shook his head as though it might offer him a fresh perspective. It didn't. "How's our good captain holding up?"

"Pilot said he's complaining that the DRDs won't clean his quarters." Chiana answered.

"Yeah, well, God only knows what he'd do to a DRD right now. Someone has remembered to feed him, right. D'Argo?" John looked at the Luxan. "D'Argo. Hey, Heavy D…now is not the time to play Prince Valiant." He nudged his friend, snapping D'Argo out of a deep reverie over Jool's sleeping form.

"Food. Yeah, I left him with plenty of food cubes." John noticed D'Argo's eyes weren't lustful as he had suspected, but sad. 

"Don't go there, man," John thought, "love never goes anywhere good."

Aloud, he said, "So we got another two days of this. Day after tomorrow, we drop anchor and send Captain Lucky planetside for a quickie. Let's just hope it's what the doctor ordered." He paused at the 

door, turning to look one last time at Jool. She seemed alright, and Chiana hadn't acted with malicious intent. Maybe one of these days he'd take some of Zhaan's sleeping medicine himself and nod off for about a week. In front of him, Aeryn froze, her body pressed against the door as though she were trying to become one with it.

How he had taken for granted their casual familiarity with each other. Those days when he could rest his hand on a shoulder, rest his palm at the small of her back as they moved through the corridors, press up behind her at a console or work table. And now, they couldn't even share the same space. He stood only the length of the doorway in front of her, trying to catch her eye. She occupied her sight with a point just down the hallway. "God," he thought, "cut me, kill me, just don't treat me like a pariah."

When her eyes zeroed in on his it was like a predator tracking prey. He'd experienced warmer gazes in the snake house at the zoo. He bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck. "Look," he said, "I realize this little trip has dragged on longer than anticipated, so if you need to change rooms by now, I'll understand."

He lifted his head and wished he hadn't. Her frigid regard left him feeling emptier than he had that day aboard the foreign transport, when she had simply gotten up and removed herself from his presence. "It's not for you to understand," she replied softly, refocusing her attention on a point just above his left brow before walking with a stiff and stilted gait away from him. He watched her go, wondering what had caught her attention so earnestly. His hand unconsciously rubbed his temple, looking for something only she could see. 

"Why do you do it to yourself?" Chiana interrupted his errant thoughts.

"What," he turned a scathing eye on her, but really didn't have the energy to hold it.

"John, just let her have some peace and she'll perhaps find the path back to you." D'Argo pushed a red curl of Jool's ridged forehead and stood up.

John nodded at his two friends. "I know, I know. But knowing what the right thing to do is and then actually doing it are two entirely different things."

"Indeed," D'Argo replied as John turned his back to leave, "that is the dilemma, isn't it?"

John stopped by the central chamber for a days worth of rations and water and returned to his quarters. If they weren't arriving for another day and some, then he saw no reason to go slip sliding around the ship. Unfortunately, the longer he remained in his quarters the more he realized his arns were spent simply waiting for Aeryn to return.

He tried to distract himself by recreating his star charts, but if his central star on every chart, labeled still 'Aeryn' wasn't enough make him feel hollow, the memories that came with each system sometimes left him gasping and on the verge of tears. Sylmun, where they had found that intriguing little bazaar and Aeryn had spent the day plying him with food from every vender, excited that he could finally sample some of her favorite treats. He smirked at his cleverness, he had renamed it LaGasse. Trojo, where men were considered chattel and Aeryn had been forced to draw on several Amazonian women before they made off with her 'breeding stock'. Well, that hadn't been a very nice world, but his ego had enjoyed it. Syn-Zuk, where pod repairs had forced them to share a room for the night and he had woken early the next morning to find her nestled against him. He remembered feeling her intake of breath against his rib cage, taking the liberty to run his fingers through her hair. When he felt her stir he had rolled away from her, knowing she hadn't been ready for that small, unconscious intimacy.

He had been torturing himself for two or three arns when he decided a shower was in order. A good long shower, use up all the hot water on the ship kind of shower. If the pain wouldn't wash away, perhaps he could at least burn it off.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there, not moving, his head resting against the shower screen, the water scalding his back when he realized there was nothing he could do to escape. Even the shower itself brought back memories, though these less pleasant. Aeryn with heat sickness, the temperature rivaling a West Palm Beach afternoon and Zhaan trying to keep her alive long enough for them to solve the problem. He and D'Argo had left the soldier and the cleric in the shower, hoping for the best. If the situation hadn't been so desperate, he would have taken a moment to stand there and enjoy the sight of her draped over the privacy screen with her underclothes clinging to her wet frame. But that wasn't a scene visited often. 

It was all this inactivity that was doing him in. He turned and slid to the floor, his back pressed against the screen for support. All this waiting. When they were actually doing something, he didn't have time to think. He focused on the matter at hand and there was no time for ruminating on problems he couldn't solve. But it had been nearly a week now of waiting to get from point A to point B and his hyperkinetic mind was starting to get the best of him. He thought about the message from his Other. He would have done the same thing, try to return some of the hope that had slipped. But had the other John counted on Aeryn shutting down totally? Had he expected them to at least be able to pick where they left off and find friendship? How much time was he talking? At this rate, he'd be dead and buried before she realized they were the same guy. How often do you get a second chance with a dead lover? Well, that was very much the problem, wasn't it? He wasn't the same guy. A few months ago they were, but not anymore. And as for being dead and buried, well dead was a highly likely possibility these days. They still had a command carrier to take out.

John knew it wasn't all about him. It was about a woman who had never been taught anything about emotion becoming paralyzed by grief. It was about spending three cycles teaching her it's ok to feel, without ever preparing her for the consequences. They were both emotional road kill at this point, deer caught in the headlights, and the more he thought about it the more he retreated into his own pain. It was unbearable carrying both his and her sorrow.

John remembered the days when his biggest issue was getting the funding for whatever hare-brained idea he had managed to pull together. Like the Farscape project. And even then it hadn't caused him any ulcers or anything. As much as he despised it, he knew that if push came to shove, Dad always made sure his son was employed. Jack Crichton was a pragmatic man who wasn't above throwing his weight around rather than let a good idea get drowned out in the politics of know nothing politicians and bureaucrats. John always knew if he was making a mistake Dad would let him take his lumps, but his Jack Crichton wasn't going to let someone outside the family dictate what was a mistake and what wasn't. 

John looked at his hands. Pretty pruney. He looked down at his chest, which had become a bright shade of lobster red. He gingerly pressed the skin, the indent making a momentary white mark. He wondered if he had actually given himself burns.

Behind him, he heard the bump and rattle of another person in his quarters. He knew her step by now, and after the soft thud of removed boots he heard her pad in bare feet around the room to her side of the bed.

He wondered how shriveled he'd get if he decided to just sleep in the shower tonight. He reached over his head and turned off the knob, deciding his father would kick his ass from Hammond side to travelin side and back again if he ever caught him wallowing in that much self pity. The man's wife had died, and he had moved on. Not unscathed, but he got up and did what had to be done every morning since. Aeryn wasn't even dead.

He stood up and reached for his towel, wrapping it around himself and stepping carefully out of the shower.

Aeryn looked up from the bed, her face impassive. She returned to cleaning her boots. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing. I took a shower." John pulled a clean Tee and a pair of military issue boxers off the shelf. 

"In what? Acid?" He looked down at himself again. He could see the object of her concern, if you could call the coolness of her comment concern.

"Just a shower," he looked at his notebook, left on the table when he had tried to abandon his train of thought. Small, neat and precise corrections had been made to his chart. Not a child's writing, someone used to holding the pen but not writing the English alphabet. He looked up at the screen partitioning their bed and smiled. There was hope yet.

"Thank you," he said, when he felt her settle in for the night.

"I don't like to see a job completed incompetently," came her reply. He felt like he was living with a schizophrenic. Not that things had been so much different before, but at least he never felt like he was treading on private territory for discussing something as innocuous as a book.

"Perhaps, if I could just see the old star charts…" John pressed just a little bit. He licked his lips and sighed when he only encountered silence. Who knew quiet was such a weapon. "I'm sorry."

"You've already said that." Silence and ice.

"No, I mean I'M sorry. I'm sorry for being me, I'm sorry we have to share quarters…I'm just sorry." He turned his back to her side of the bed and scooted to the edge so as not to accidentally bump her in the middle of the night. He wondered if this was going to be another night when he cried himself to sleep or languished in the pain of something tearing him apart from the inside out.

"My mother said," she paused, but John had already heard her voice. Low, as though someone else were on this tier who could hear, and suddenly lacking its edge. Her mother… "She said that when you lose someone you don't lose them in pieces, but altogether. They are simply gone as though they had never been there."

John rolled onto his stomach and tucked his crossed arms under his chest, supporting his weight. If he didn't, they would do something stupid like pull aside the curtain and try to touch her. Try to smooth away the lines from her face, maybe kiss away some of the tears.

"Your mother said this?" he asked carefully.

"Before she died. It's the only lesson she left me with." Then, softer, "The only one worth repeating." He felt her shift in the bed too and wondered if they were looking at the memories of each other's faces through the screen. "Why do you never speak of your mother, Crichton?"

John felt sick. Not just the mental sickness of thinking you should be unwell, but physically ill. He swallowed back the bile and tried to form a coherent thought.

"My mother--" Images grabbed him before words. Leslie McDougal Crichton. Loved her husband, loved her son and daughters with all the breadth and scope of her heart and raised them into loyal and outstanding adults. Yet, what in her realm of experience could have prepared her to raise a son to be a stranger in a strange land? The beast in his chest that chewed on him night after night found a new wound, worrying at the edges of guilt. For all that she had given her only son over the days of his life, he had been unable to repay in kind by being there for her death. Grief is selfish.

"Um, didn't the Other say anything about her?" Not that he would have either, but this John hoped that the subject had come up between them already, that somehow the other John would let him off the hook. If she wanted to know about his mother, how could he deny her when she had just imparted on him the last and only ounce of wisdom her own mother had given her?

"He--we--the subject never came up." Or had he refused to discuss the matter as well and she was just fishing now?

"Mom," John searched for something to say that didn't sound like a eulogy, but decided that everything you say about the dead after they're gone is a eulogy. Parting words. Things you should have said a long time ago but always thought you'd get around to. "Mom was a good woman. Dad was a career pilot so it was just her and us most of the time. I think she did good, but that's for others to say, not me."

A soft sigh. "She did well."

Anxious to keep her talking, whether or not the conversation should die a natural death John asked, "Was your mother what you expected?"

In the quiet John could almost see her chewing her lower lip in thought, staring at the ceiling, her hands resting lightly one on top of the other across her belly.

"No. But she was who I needed her to be." He heard the ice creeping back into her voice. Something in the memory reminded her of who she should be. The curtain between them shifted as she moved away from it and his quarters were quiet the rest of the night.

John didn't remember his dreams that night, but he awoke cold and sweaty, his limbs aching like he had just run a marathon and he knew he had dreamt of his mother. Her illness. Her last days. He hoped he hadn't been loud enough to disturb Aeryn.


	8. Finale

"I need your help," he said, frustrated. The woman who had spoken with him in the wee hours of the night was gone, walls rebuilt in earnest, her commando persona in full control.

She looked at him out of the corner of one hard blue eye before returning her attention to the control panel on Moya's command.

"Aeryn, c'mon, throw me a bone here. This mess," John motioned at the shiny floor with is pen, "will be gone in the next day or so and then we have a command carrier to track down and blow up. You know command carriers, I don't."

"Moya has an extensive data bank. I suggest you make use of it."

"Look," John said, thinking aloud more so than actually talking, "I know it won't take much to get Sparky to sell me down the river. Getting on the carrier won't be a problem. However, I would like to get off the carrier with everything still intact, including my frontal lobe. I assume you have the same agenda?" He watched her hands moving over the controls pause for a moment before migrating to a new grid.

A suspicion crept up on him and he didn't like the look of it. "Aeryn, this isn't a suicide mission. You do understand that, don't you?"

She didn't look at him. "I'll do what I have to to accomplish the mission. You just worry about your part."

"Hold the phone, Calamity Jane. No one has a part and there isn't a mission unless the GOAL is for everyone involved to get out. Alive. And preferably in one piece." John shrugged. "It's whether or not we attain our goal, that's yet to be seen."

Puzzle pieces clicked into place and John suddenly wondered if Aeryn hadn't returned from her Sabbatical just to wrap up the loose ends on her dead lover's project before she decided to join him in the great beyond. He didn't like the way that sounded. He didn't like the way Aeryn looked. And the more he the thought about it, the more it made sense. She'd always said she hadn't expected to live this long. Was she taking matters into her own hands?

Mentally, he knew what had to be done. But emotionally? Emotionally John was ready to scrap the whole plan, what little of it there was. Run far, run fast, let the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans blow themselves into another time zone and check his score card later. Lock Aeryn in a cell somewhere and do the job himself. Well, that thought was even less realistic than all the others.

"John, just worry about getting the job done. If you have a good plan, no one should get killed, right?" She made one last sweeping gesture of her hand over the control panel and minced out of the room.

He wondered for a moment if he should follow her but decided he just couldn't handle the Dr. Jeckyl and Officer Hyde routine anymore. He didn't want to have to rely on Crais for anything, let alone life or death information, but at this point it was better than nothing. One more solar day, they would reach their destination and then they could all go off and get themselves killed. It was always good to have a plan.

It lay on his bed, its cover dirty and thumb printed, its edges dog eared and creased and looking like it had seen a thousand star systems, been read and touched and slept on. His old journal. He picked it up and caressed the cover. It was hers now more than it was ever his. He thumbed the pages and wondered…wondered…he put it down before he satisfied his curiosity. When…how…that was his big question. How had is doppelganger finally won over the indomitable Officer Sun? That little Memorex message his Other recorded could have at least left him with that.

John lay awake most of the night, his eyes constantly wandering to where he had left Aeryn's notebook on the table, next to his own. It was easy to tell them apart, one looked like it had seen a war, the other still pristine and immaculate. Physical manifestations of their owners psyche. Was it a gift? A peace offering? Aeryn didn't come home that night to ask. Home. He marveled at how easy it was to fall into a wanted routine of thought, however erroneous it was. This wasn't her home anymore than he was her boyfriend, husband, lover. He'd settle for friend with perks. But it was comforting to think of it as such. For now.

He wondered where she was. On command? Perhaps. Sharing a bunk for the night with the girls? Not likely. Perhaps in Pilot's den, but John doubted even the special bond Pilot and Aeryn shared would protect the ex-Peacekeeper from Pilot's current lascivious nature. The terrace. Watching the starscape go by and mourning the loss of another piece of her life.

When his eyes finally closed and allowed him the release of dreams, he was holding her, kissing her, touching her in ways that he longed for every moment of every day and she wasn't pushing him away. They could have been aboard Moya, or Talyn, but in that wild disorienting way dreams have the space was familiar and not. It was unimportant…she returned his kisses, his caresses, her hair hung loose about her shoulders and he could feel it curtain his face as he bent his head to nip at her throat, nibble at an ear. She was beneath him, her hips rising to meet his and he awoke sweating and moaning, grinding against his mattress and suddenly thankful Aeryn hadn't made it back to quarters that night.

John threw the bag of currency at Crais who caught it with a loud grunt and tried not to loose his footing. D'Argo grabbed him by the collar of his coat to hold him steady.

"What's this for?" Crais asked, looking at John out of the corner of a deep brown eye that seemed to gleam with some insidious emotion.

"What, you think we're counting on your stunning personality to get us out of this mess?" John shook his head. "Uh uh, Bialar. You go have yourself a 'really' good time, on us."

"You expect me to purchase…" Crais looked indignant.

"Yeah, I do. If you have to. Crais, I'm sure when you were a captain, you had your pick of the ranks. But that don't mean jack around here, and I'm just making sure you do your part without getting arrested." John looked at Jool, who hung at the far corner of the bay, glad to give Crais a send off but not wanting to get closer than absolutely necessary.

"I don't understand why I have to babysit this traznick." D'Argo groused as Crais gave up any pretense of argument and turned towards the transport pod.

"We already went over this, big guy. If our friend here goes Ted Bundy on us or something, you're more capable of subduing him without killing him."

"Says you. How about I let him do his duty for ship and deity and then kill him?" D'Argo answered, sheathing his qualta blade.

"You know what a pile of dren we're in right now. Do you really think it's appropriate to be focusing on personal vendettas?" Chiana chimed in. D'Argo growled in reply.

"Look D'Argo, just do the Gene Simmons thing if you have to. And make sure he brings back my change," John called after him after he started to board the transport pod.

"So now what?" Jool asked, approaching the group after the inner bay doors had closed.

"Now we wait," Aeryn replied, her entrance unseen at the bay doorway. She turned and left just as quietly.

"Is anyone else concerned that we haven't seen Sparky since this whole mess has started?" John asked, looking around and realizing the Hynerian had missed yet another group meeting. It was rare he missed any opportunity to make himself seem more important by interjecting his own opinion.

"I, uh, I checked on him," Chiana said, sounding somewhat embarrassed for being concerned about the little green slug's well being. "He's observing a period of mourning. For Orrhn."

"Little Lord Fauntleroy has a period of mourning?" John asked, incredulous.

"Oh, it doesn't mean much. It's not like he's depriving himself or anything, he just keeps to his atmosphere ducts for food raids on the central chamber and he doesn't have to associate with us for a weeken." Chiana shrugged.

John quirked an eyebrow at her, then shook his head and he started the long and precarious route back to his quarters. He had a notebook to replace.

He was amazed at his own level of self control. He flipped through the pages, finding the last system they'd been in before the diseased Leviathan and the dren had hit the atmospheric scrubbers. Carefully unbinding the pages, he lay them out on his bed, the warped and beaten cover carefully shielding his Other's words from him as he neatly and tightly bound it back into one book. The remaining loose pages of star charts he shuffled between the pages of his own journal for attention later.

He flipped the pages of Aeryn's journal with his thumb, just to check the integrity of the binding and noticed the last page was written in tight, controlled script. An alphabet he recognized but couldn't read. He wondered what Aeryn had been chronicling. A eulogy for a lover? It didn't matter, it would always remain a moment in time he'd never know about.

John left the notebook on her side of the bunk and lay down, hoping she would return tonight, most likely the last night they'd have to share quarters. Quite possibly the last night they'd ever share quarters under any circumstances.

He was drifting in and out of sleep, wishing for a cable box, a clicker, and a bowl of popcorn when he heard her pause at the door and begin to unbuckle her boots.

"Any news?" he asked, making sure the bed cover was neatly arranged over his boxers. The past week had woven them into an easy familiarity with each other, moving from sleeping in their clothes to Aeryn wandering about the chamber in her undershirt and boxers. It was the ease of falling back into the familiar for her, and for him it was suddenly like sharing a room in ROTC. You didn't have to talk to your bunk mate, you didn't even have to like your bunk mate, but you learned to treat your combined areas like home. Odd that he would suddenly feel self conscious.

"D'Argo commed about half an arn ago." Her face twitched against a smile. "He said Crais was being very, very 'thorough' and at this rate we may not see them for a day or two."

"The guy is not the energizer bunny, he's got to wear himself out at some point."

Aeryn carried her boots around the side of the bed and said, "I'm sure Talyn is quite capable of fortifying Crais energy reserves, especially considering the circumstance."

John tried not to chuckle. "You got to feel bad for Talyn, though. I mean, the poor kid is getting cheated out of his first time."

Aeryn didn't answer him, but he heard the whisper of a thumb against the soft fan of paper. He realized he was holding his breath, waiting for some sort of response, and tried to release it quietly. John heard the book hit the bed, it's whoosh of pages replaced by the heavy stream of Aeryn's shower. He wondered if she thought he was rejecting her gift. Or was she pissed he hadn't returned the book in its entirety? 

He was sitting up in bed, chewing the pad of his thumb and wondering what he should do when he heard the water turn off and felt Aeryn slip into bed next to him.

"Aeryn--"

"John, just let me talk." Her voice sounded hoarse, thick, as though she had used to the shower to mask an emotional outburst. Well, not like she'd ever be the first one to do that around here. "This is very…hard…for me."

"Talking?" John shifted himself to look directly at the screen between them. He could imagine her perched on the edge of the bed, fresh tank top and briefs, perhaps combing and binding her hair back.

"Everything. This whole thing. This having to share quarters, having to share the ship, having to see you again. I thought if I could just keep myself closed off, treat you like you're not him, I could adjust. But every time you speak I hear his voice. Every time I see you I see him. It's like living on Valldon all over again and there are nights that I lie here and think 'it'd be all right to pretend, just this one time'."

In her space between thoughts, John wanted to move around the curtain, pull it aside, take it down, just to reach out and hold her. Her voice had grown small and weak and he wanted to hold her not for his own reasons, but because she sounded like she needed it. He held himself still, not trusting his own body if he allowed it to move. This was her moment, not his.

"It's very confusing, isn't it?" She continued. "I mean, I know what you're thinking, even before there were two of you I could read your thoughts. You write them all over your face. I look at you and think 'he gets that same line over his eye when he's worried.' If we made love right now, I'd know exactly how you'd touch me and how I should to touch you."

"Aeryn, I don't want that." His fingers betrayed him as they brushed against the bed cover between them. What was it he didn't want? To make love? To be the consolation prize. "I don't want that until you do. Until you can look at me and not see him."

"And what if I never can?" He heard the rustle of bed covers as she lay down and fidgeted. It never seemed that she ever got comfortable, only that her body would fall into sleep and lie still a few arns.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He lay back as well, tucking his hands under his head. "Aeryn, we may have started out the same man, but you spent three months, monens, with someone whose standards I can only hope to live up to. Now, I'm just a guy who looks like him. But I'm still the same guy whose backside you have pulled out of every pile of dren in the UT, and kicked up one side of Moya and down the other. I'm still the same guy who can't take a pentak jab and who can make a damn good BBQ, all things considered. I know you and he have memories I can't compete with, and I don't want to."

"Did you--I mean, thank you for returning his book. I--" Her voice wouldn't let her finish. 

"I didn't read anything that wasn't my business. I'm not a voyeur." He wondered what sort of answer he expected from a statement like that, and was caught entirely off guard by her next sentence.

"John, if you don't return from the carrier, I won't either." Her control was back. Her voice hard, competent. Her statement could have been as innocuous as "it's your turn to clean the sluice chamber."

"Aeryn--" John sat bolt upright in bed.

"No, John. It's not a threat or an ultimatum. It simply is. I won't live with that pain twice."

When the enormity of her words struck him his mind was stuck in a loop like a squirrel in a cage. It wasn't the fact that she would rather die than live with his death again, it was what the words implied. If his death, HIS death, not the Other's but his, could bring her that much pain, it meant she cared. She cared. Deep inside that Peacekeeper exterior was the woman he loved, the woman who loved him, hidden and cowering from the emotional torture she never in her life had been prepared to handle. If there was ever any truth to the cliché of a heart soaring, it was at that moment. John felt light headed, he felt like he could levitate if he tried hard enough, he felt like he could take on the entire PK armada and walk out without a scratch because his Officer Aeryn Sun needed him to. Joshua may have had the power of God, but John Crichton had more. He had hope.

"We'll get back, Aeryn, I promise. And then you and I can start working on some new memories. They don't have to be the same ones, just our own."

"We'll see," she said. "It won't be easy." John felt something move against his thigh and reached a hand down. Her fingers caught his and twined against them, holding his hand fast just at the border of their Wall.

"It never is," he answered, giving her hand a small squeeze. 


End file.
